


i could be your hiding place.

by redhoods



Series: the closest we'll get to heaven sent. [3]
Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Collars, Established Relationship, Light Bondage, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Racism, Trust Kink, Widofjord Week
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-17
Updated: 2019-06-17
Packaged: 2020-05-13 15:37:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19254124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redhoods/pseuds/redhoods
Summary: Caleb’s hand touches his back, before they’ve cleared the bottom of the stairs, the two of them stopped at uneven levels that puts Caleb at eye level with him, “We can do this another way.”Gritting his teeth, he’s not expecting the hand that comes up and cups his cheek, the thumb that presses to his lower lip to stop him from grinding. Fjord inhales sharply through his nose, exhales slowly through his mouth, “If I have to wear this thing for a day so that we can save a bunch of lives, I’m fine,” he grits out. He meets Caleb’s gaze, imploring and trying so hard to convey the words that keep getting tangled in his mouth.“Okay,” Caleb says, then, “Okay,” again and kisses Fjord gently, just a brush of lips with his thumb still in the way.





	i could be your hiding place.

**Author's Note:**

> this is a follow up to my fake married stories, but can be read alone. it’d probably fall some months after those first ones, when fjord and caleb have been together for a while. it’s set in the nebulous future of the mighty nein.
> 
> the racism is like if you’re a non human inquisitor at the winter palace and most of it has to do with orcs.
> 
> for day two - intimacy at widofjord week.
> 
> title is from just breathe by benjamin francis leftwich.

“Thank you, Jester,” Caleb says quietly, wedged between the frame and the door, hand still held out despite the fact that she’s already placed her findings in it.

Her smile is distracted and she rocks up on her toes, trying to squint passed him into the room, then quietly asks, “Is Fjord really okay with this?” She waves her hands, “I mean, _really_ , Caleb, and not just doing it because he thinks he has to?”

Caleb curls his fingers around the leather straps, “I think he’s as okay with it as any of us would be,” he says carefully, “He’s trusting me to know the limits and I’m trusting him to tell me if he needs out.”

She narrows her eyes at him and gets so they’re nearly nose to nose, or would be if she were several inches taller, “Do you know the limits?”

“Jester,” he replies, voice low.

“Just checking!” She relents, rocking back away from him and plastering her smile back on, “We’re all worried,” she adds, quieter again so Fjord won’t hear it.

It’s in vain, because Fjord nudges the door open with his toes, his front pressed to Caleb’s back, still in the doorway, “I’ll be fine, Jessie,” he tells her, his smile easy. He drops a kiss to Caleb’s shoulder, “You two are going to worry yourselves grey.”

Jester balks and wags a finger at him threateningly, “The only one around here going grey anytime soon is you, Fjord!” She declares then turns to skip off, “And Caleb a little bit!” And dashes down the hall with a cackle that echoes off the walls.

Caleb touches his hairline, “If I’m going grey, it is because of all of you,” he says with a delicate sniff.

Hooking an arm around his middle, Fjord tugs him away from the door, nudging it shut with his heel, “You love us,” he counters, as if that were in question, and lifts the set of leather straps out of Caleb’s hand, rubbing his thumb over the material.

“Ja, I do,” Caleb edges around him and moves to sit on the edge of the bed, “Come, we do not have much time before we have to leave.”

———

The others are waiting at the base of the stairs when they make their way down and not a single one of them tries to pretend like they weren’t, all of them peering up at the two of them as they descend.

Fjord shifts restlessly with their attention, grumbling out an irritated but fond, “I’m fine,” before rubbing his knuckles over his mouth. It doesn’t exactly feel true leaving his mouth, but it is. He’s fine for now, while they’re in the house, while he can wear his shirt over the leather straps and pretend that this isn’t happening like this.

Caleb’s hand touches his back, before they’ve cleared the bottom of the stairs, the two of them stopped at uneven levels that puts Caleb at eye level with him, “We can do this another way.”

Gritting his teeth, he’s not expecting the hand that comes up and cups his cheek, the thumb that presses to his lower lip to stop him from grinding. Fjord inhales sharply through his nose, exhales slowly through his mouth, “If I have to wear this thing for a day so that we can save a bunch of lives, I’m fine,” he grits out. He meets Caleb’s gaze, imploring and trying so hard to convey the words that keep getting tangled in his mouth.

“Okay,” Caleb says, then, “Okay,” again and kisses Fjord gently, just a brush of lips with his thumb still in the way.

He shuffles back on his step then nudges Fjord shoulder again, so he carries on.

Only Beau is looking at them now, the others turned away to give them some semblance of false privacy, but she doesn’t give a damn about their privacy.

She claps him on the shoulder when he joins her on the floor and then wraps her hand around the back of his neck and squeezes, “You just give the signal and I’ll fuck all their shit up,” she says, quietly serious. 

It’d been part of the arrangement.

Humans are the only ones allowed in the room, unless they’re... companions. They hadn’t been able to procure more than one invite and everyone had quietly, unanimously decided that Caleb was better suited for this. Even Beau. She’d taken one look at the thing, the addendum and attached information about “companions” and had stalked off.

She’d come back two hours later, sweaty with bruised knuckles, and said she’d get herself in as a servant or something.

Fjord’s glad it’s only going to be her and Caleb.

It’s going to be the gala to a higher degree all over again.

He swallows, “I will,” he says and the unspoken ‘thank you’ hangs in the air.

She nods and chuffs her knuckles under his chin and steps back. It’s strange to see her dressed in something that actually covers her from neck to feet, only her hands bare. Even proper shoes.

He curls a lip and she scoffs, “Yeah, it’s fucking weird, isn’t it?”

“I’ll trade ya,” he says and relishes in the sharp laugh that escapes her.

A hand lands on his back and Fjord instinctively presses back into it. “We only have thirty minutes if we still want to be early,” Caleb says lowly and Fjord nods, working his jaw for a minute.

Beau punches Caleb in the shoulder then she and Jester loop arms and head out.

Caleb wheezes next to him and rubs his shoulder, “You can leave the shirt on for now, liebling,” he says, as Fjord reaches for the top buttons. Without another word, another offer of an out that Fjord isn’t sure he wouldn’t refuse this time, Caleb cups the back of his elbow and leads the way out.

———

It’s a long walk, the actual chateau the talks are taking place at is far outside of town, on a needlessly expansive stretch of land, and Fjord feels like his shoulders get tighter and tighter, once they leave the town proper.

Caleb pulls him to a stop when the chateau comes into view, dragging him off the path and crowding his back against a tree, “Fjord,” he says, voice dipped low, eyes intent, “You need to relax.”

Fjord breathes out, shakes his arms out, rolls his neck, “I’m trying, Cay.”

“Okay,” Caleb breathes with him, a hand pushing up his shirt, cupping his side over a strip of leather, “Still good?” He asks and he’s looking for something in Fjord’s face now.

Swallowing, Fjord curls his fingers around Caleb’s wrist and squeezes once, cocks an eyebrow at him.

“Gut,” Caleb says and then kisses him, crowding fully into his space, so they’re pressed fully together. His finger curls around the leather strap and tugs, so the connecting pieces pull taut and Fjord gasps quietly into his mouth.

That seems to have been Caleb’s goal, because he immediately licks into his mouth, and Fjord gradually loosens, melting back against the tree with every swipe of Caleb’s tongue.

When Caleb pulls away, his lips are red and his smile is small, satisfied, the smile that means Fjord’s pleased him and thus turns his insides liquid, “Sehr gut, liebling,” he says, voice scraped even lower and Fjord shudders.

And then there are long, clever fingers picking apart the buttons of his shirt.

He rolls his shoulders so the material slides down off, watching Caleb scoop the material up and tuck it into his bag. His hand comes back out with another strip of leather. 

“It’s okay,” Fjord says quietly, when Caleb hesitates, then sinks a little lower, not quite kneeling, and tilts his head, baring the length of his throat to Caleb.

Caleb exhales loudly and his hands linger when he fastens the collar around Fjord’s throat, “I do not think I would mind this under better circumstances,” he admits, then bites down with blunt human teeth just below the strip of the collar.

There’s something he could say, something to reassure Caleb, but his entire brain whites out, thoughts wrecked and scattered from some combination of Caleb’s words and actions.

Once Caleb has bit and sucked at the skin, worrying what’s bound to be an impressive mark at the hollow of Fjord’s throat, he withdraws all at once, gaze sweeping over Fjord’s form. He shivers under that gaze and swipes his hand over the mark, pressing his claws briefly against it.

Caleb’s eyes have gone dark, navy and molten, and he just nods once, “Gut,” then steps away, spine straighter, shoulders rolled back, “Come along,” and his voice is different now. It’s pure Empire, aristocratic and expectant.

Fjord hates the way it makes his insides stay molten, even in the face of what they’re doing.

He gives himself a second to breathe and try to collect himself, before pushing off the tree and following behind Caleb. The few feet between them feels much larger now, but Fjord swallows around the feeling, fucking his chin to his chest, linking his fingers behind his back as he follows directly in Caleb’s wake.

———

When they make it to the actual chateau itself, Fjord misses a lot of the conversation that happens as Caleb speaks with guards and attaches, then a servant is escorting them to a holding chamber and they’re left alone once more.

“Fjord,” Caleb says, once he’s done a pass of the room to make sure there’s nothing magical, that they’re not being listened in on.

It takes him a minute, but he blinks at Caleb eventually, “Hm?”

Caleb’s eyebrow lifts and his head tips, then his smile goes soft and fond, “Ah, I see,” he says, stepping closer. His hand cups around the back of Fjord’s neck and Fjord melts forward into him, back arching as he tucks his face into Caleb’s neck with a quiet sound.

“Straps not too tight?” Caleb asks, sliding a finger from each hand under the harness in two different places, testing it, until Fjord shakes his head. “Gut, okay, liebling, boots off.”

Fjord tries to swallow it back, but a soft keen still bubbles out when Caleb eases him back, hands on his cheeks.

Caleb thumbs at his cheekbone, “You’re doing so well for me,” he says, like he doesn’t know that he’s fully wrecking Fjord like this, “Once we’re in the talks, you won’t have to do anything but sit and be a good boy for me, you can do that, can’t you?”

Fjord’s nodding before the question is even fully spoken and he lets Caleb press him down to his knees. For a brief minute, he stays like that, pressing his face against Caleb’s thigh and taking shaky breaths, but he sprawls back on his ass when Caleb touches the top of his head.

His boots fight him, the laces too much for his clumsy fingers, but eventually, they come loose and he drags them off, then his socks, shoving those down into his boots.

There’s a tap at the door and Caleb snaps his fingers once, “Ja, one moment!”

Fjord shifts at the sound at the snap, onto his knees once more, toes on the floor, ass on his heels. He locks his fingers against the small of his back, gaze on the floor by Caleb’s fancy shoes.

Above him, Caleb hums out a quiet, “Gut,” and then steps away to the door.

Embarrassingly, Fjord misses that entire conversation as well, spaced out until Caleb snaps his fingers again. He rises, careful not to let his knees give way, and keeps his eyes down as he joins Caleb at the door.

Caleb doesn’t address him, simply hooks a single finger in Fjord’s collar and leads him out of the room.

———

They’re led through the halls to another part of the chateau and Fjord prays it’s to where the talks are being held. Some point in the journey, Caleb drops his hand and Fjord follows in his wake.

The servant leading them says nothing, a half elf in nice clothing, nice shoes, though Fjord can’t make out anything else about them with his eyes turned down. It doesn’t matter, he trusts Caleb to catalogue and remember everything he sees.

At the door, a guard nods at Caleb and ignores him, pressing the large wood door open.

He’s not stopped from following Caleb into the room though and once they’re in, he realizes it’s a large study.

This is surely not where the talks are happening.

Whatever introductions happen, Fjord misses them in favor of clocking as many exits as he can see, tallying up the number of people in the room. That’s his only job, to know their ways out and the potential threats.

Caleb is the one taking names and information.

There’s two main exits out, but Fjord sees a servant slip in with a pitcher of wine from a hidden alcove around a bookcase.

When Fjord is trying to gauge people, Caleb snaps his fingers and Fjord moves automatically, following Caleb further into the room. The chair that Caleb selects is some high backed atrocity, but the only space around it is in front of him, between his knees.

He sinks at the same time Caleb snaps, his knees hitting the stone floor, before he shuffles back until he’s framed by Caleb’s knees. One of Caleb’s fingers hooks in the back of his collar and gives a few gentle tugs, so he tries to be careful as he cups the back of Caleb’s ankle and squeezes once.

There’s another tug to his collar and then Caleb leaves his hand there.

Fjord turns his gaze up, only at his own eye level like this and starts flitting his gaze around. 

Someone meets his gaze, a tiefling on their knees beside a chaise lounge containing a woman with more necklaces and rings than he thinks Jester and Nott own combined. The tiefling is all red, skin and eyes and hair and horns.

Their eyes make him think of Molly and he forces himself not to look away.

They squint at him then tip their chin, almost like a greeting. It draws attention to the collar around their throat, jewels set into the leather strap that looks like it’s a fraction too tight. The woman in the chair isn’t touching them at all, instead invested in some conversation.

Fjord tips his chin, even if it tugs the collar a bit. The only indication from Caleb is the gentle press of a nail against the back of his neck.

The woman in the chaise is in conversation with a portly, balding man who has a lithe, pale tabaxi at his feet. There’s a leash in his hand that’s connected to the collar around the tabaxi’s neck and Fjord flicks his gaze away.

It only takes him one pass to realize he’s the only half orc in the room and by far, the largest of the companions. He swallows the knowledge back and sinks a little more, flattening his feet so the pressure isn’t just on his toes any longer.

Then he tunes into Caleb’s conversation.

“...you think those _savages_ over the mountains would even entertain the idea of peace talks?” A nasally man is asking Caleb.

Fjord thinks of watching Essex daintily dab sauce off his cheek with a napkin, of watching Wursh work delicate etchings into Yasha’s bracers, and contains his snort. If only because he thinks of the flint of the Bright Queen’s eyes, her determination that the Empire was beyond saving.

Caleb’s voice is so bland when he replies, as if he thinks this nasally voiced man is worth less than the specks of dirt one is shoes, “I did not say peace talks,” and Fjord thinks that’s exactly what Caleb thinks of this man.

Of everyone in this room that’s got their ass perched on actual furniture.

All of them have their fingers in many pies, including a few in the Cerberus Assembly.

He squeezes Caleb’s ankle again and withdraws his hand to his lap before someone notices.

That same nail presses against his neck again and Fjord breathes out a quiet sigh.

———

Conversation in the study falls in much the same way, Caleb calmly and quietly decimating the people surrounding them with his intelligence and wit. Really, it only seems to draw him more favor.

Time passes in a way that Fjord can’t track and then, they are moving again, the whole group of them.

Caleb hooks his finger in the front of Fjord’s collar, his knuckle against Fjord’s adam’s apple as he leads him out of the room. 

The same red tiefling from before is just ahead of them, practically skipping behind their lady, one of her ring laden hands, pulling them along by a dainty chain system that’s running all over their torso and back. It looks like something Fjord would get tangled in seconds.

He drops his gaze to the backs of Caleb’s shoes.

It’s the reason he sees someone come up on Caleb’s other side, their fancy shoes coming into view.

“Herr Brahm,” a pleasantly boring masculine voice greets and Caleb’s gait doesn’t falter in the slightest.

“Lord Willhelm, ja?” Caleb’s voice is also pleasantly boring, no undercurrent of concern so Fjord relaxes, planning to tune them out.

Then the voice goes, “I wanted to commend you on your... pet,” he says the word so carefully, like he’s concerned about upsetting Caleb if he assumes wrong. Any other time, it would be impressive, how Caleb already has these people simpering to get on his good side.

Caleb hums and doesn’t reply, not at first. He’s giving a little slack to the man, the sort of thing that he’s seen Caleb do before, give a person just enough to hang themself with. When the man makes no move to speak again, Caleb hums again and tugs a little at Fjord’s collar.

Fjord easily sways with the movement, trusting Caleb.

“Danke,” Caleb says, though offers nothing more.

The man makes a considering sound and Fjord can feel eyes on him, has to stamp back the urge to lift his gaze in challenge. Caleb tugs the collar again, until Fjord is practically against his back and Fjord keeps his hands locked behind his back, his gaze now on the back of Caleb’s coat.

“I’ve never seen one of his kind so well behaved.”

And there it is. 

He’s been waiting for it, honestly, waiting for the dig ever since he realized there wasn’t a single other person of orcish blood present. It feels directed at him though, like the man is seeing if he can get a rise out of Fjord.

It’d be a clever ploy, to undermine Caleb, if Fjord were any other half orc possibly.

Caleb laughs quietly ahead of him, and the finger in his collar turns, tightening it a little, and he can feel Caleb’s gaze on him for a brief moment, as a thumb presses to the jut of one of his tusks, over the blunted end of it. “Perhaps it is the hand doing the controlling, rather than the creature,” Caleb says, voice so very serious, cutting low through the air.

The man’s footsteps falter and on Caleb’s other side, the bejeweled woman titters with laughter, “Oh, Herr Brahm, you are a delight,” she says, accent bordering on Jester’s.

Caleb rights his hand so the collar is no longer tightened and they continue on at the previous pace through the halls, and Fjord loses the conversation between Caleb and the woman from there.

Though when he turns his head, just a little, the red tiefling is watching him appraisingly.

———

The room where the talks are being held is a large chamber, with only a set of double doors that lead in, though Fjord is sure he’ll find plenty of servant entrances when he has the chance to look.

There’s a massive table in the center, surrounded by chairs, with open spaces between each. He swallows and turns his focus briefly to the table, covered in papers and large maps of Wildemount. None of them have an even somewhat decent map of Xhorhas and Fjord thinks of the map at the inn, protected in the bag of holding.

Caleb leads him around the table and Fjord misses how the seating arrangement is decided, but Caleb sinks into one of the chairs. At first glance, they look like they’re going to be miserably uncomfortable but as Fjord prepares to sink to his knees, he realizes they’re well cushioned.

A snap stops him and he very carefully doesn’t startle or look at Caleb, body locking up before he lowers himself.

“Gut,” Caleb says low and Fjord curls his claws into his own palms.

It takes a second to see why the halt, when Caleb produces something from one of his inner coat pockets where he’s got all his spell components tucked away. He produces something in Fjord’s line of sight, a small ruby square that he drops carelessly to the floor in the spot where Fjord is supposed to be.

As soon as it hits the floor, there’s a quiet discharge of magic, and there’s a ruby cushion at his feet.

Fjord stares at it until Caleb snaps again and then he sinks to his knees on it. It’s very soft, squishy under his knees, and he doesn’t even feel the floor through it. He wonders if Caleb or Jester thought of this and how they procured it.

Then he thinks of the harness he’s in and decides he doesn’t want to know.

When he’s fully settled, Fjord realizes that the top of his head is below the table top, meaning that he’s only visible to Caleb and the person to his left and when he lifts his gaze, the red tiefling is across from him.

He cocks an eyebrow at them, but misses their reaction, because Caleb cups the back of his head and scratches his nails through the shorn hair on the back of his neck. It takes him a moment to regain his focus and the tiefling isn’t looking at him now, instead has their cheek against their lady’s thigh and is braiding their own hair into a plait over their shoulder.

Breathing out, Fjord wraps his hand around Caleb’s ankle and squeezes gently once.

Caleb flicks the back of his ear in response and Fjord muffles his laugh by pressing his face against the outside of Caleb’s thigh. A hand cups the side of his head and keeps him there, Caleb’s thumb sweeping against the back of his head in gentle sweeps.

Fjord turns his head just enough so that his cheek is on Caleb’s thigh and he can see.

This position actually gives him more of a vantage, so he can see more of the companions and also far too many laps and legs for his own liking. There’s not quite enough spacing between everyone for him to be able to make out much of the room away from the table though.

Here is where he trusts Caleb and Beau to have his back and all he’s got to do is pray his knees don’t lock up when he tries to stand up next.

And apparently give Caleb an outlet for his anxious energy, if the way Caleb is petting through his hair is any indication. It gives him an idea for later, but he keeps it to his back pocket, for when the talks are properly underway.

———

To say that Fjord loses the thread of the talks early on is an understatement. It’s hard to parse the rise and fall of all the voices from under the table, even if he understood what’s being said.

It doesn’t help that through it all, Caleb keeps one hand on his head, sometimes petting through his hair, sometimes scraping nails over his scalp, and sometimes resting their when Caleb gets thoroughly invested in some point he’s making.

Fjord’s wildly impressed with him, if he’s being honest.

There hasn’t been a single instance where Caleb has raised his voice or even shown sign of being affected, aside from the hand that’s kept in contact with Fjord, like Fjord is his outlet for whatever it is he’s feeling.

And Fjord, well, he simply drifts in that space staying as alert as he thinks can be expected when the minutes drag into hours. He thinks. Time is strange like this, on his knees with nothing to do but try not to meet the gaze of any of the other companions under the table.

None of them seem to care so far as he can tell, all of them relaxed in different positions, and he wonders how long they’ve all been doing this. That leads him to wondering if they’re actually okay with this, actually taken care of, and he has to shove those thoughts down. As much as he’d love to, there’s nothing he can do without giving he and Caleb’s ploy away.

At some point, Caleb tugs his hair and draws his attention up, though the angle does nothing good for his insides, peering up at Caleb.

“Here,” Caleb says, voice low and seemingly uninterested as he passes over a goblet. He doesn’t even look at Fjord, simply hands it over and goes back to his talk.

It’s water and Fjord drinks it down gratefully.

He squeezes Caleb’s ankle gently and passes it back into the hand that appears in his line of sight.

Time moves on.

———

Around the time Fjord thinks he’s going to fall asleep, Caleb tugs gently at his hair again and chairs around the table start grating across the floor. He sits up properly onto his knees and Caleb snaps once, so he stands.

When he’s upright, it takes everything not to wince at the pain in his knees, how stiff his entire body feels. Caleb nudges his side then points at the cushion, not saying a word, still carrying on his conversation with someone else.

Fjord leans down and scoops it up, cradling the cushion to his chest, confusion cutting through his drowsy fog,

Caleb touches the cushion, still not looking away from his conversation partner as the cushion shrinks back into a small square in Fjord’s palm. A snap draws his attention and he straightens, chin still down as he links his fingers behind his back.

A hand comes into his line of sight and Caleb hooks his finger in the collar and tugs until Fjord starts walking with him.

They leave the room through the same way they came in and end up turning a bunch of corners, walking a bunch of hallways, until Fjord is well and truly lost, and then Caleb pulls him to a stop in an alcove that’s barely big enough for both of them and the small stone bench in it.

Caleb leans back against the wall with a big, heaving sigh, “We’re alone for now,” he says, voice hushed, gaze heavy on Fjord, “Are you all right?”

Swallowing, Fjord mirrors his position on the other side, taking stock, “Think so,” he answers, rolling his neck, “A little stiff, but I’ll be good. What time is it?”

“Noon,” Caleb says, an eyebrow quirked, “We’re breaking so the servants can set up lunch,” he adds, something curious in his expression. Eventually it smooths out and Caleb nods at him without saying anything else.

That means he lost something like three hours like that.

He scrunches his face and rubs the back of his hand over his mouth.

“Come here,” Caleb’s voice is soft, asking not telling, so Fjord pushes off the wall and right into Caleb’s space, lets himself be pulled down into a soft kiss, then more, so his face is against Caleb’s neck.

Suddenly Caleb tenses and the only warning Fjord gets is the hand that presses hard to his shoulder. He sinks quickly, very nearly smacking his knees off the floor in his haste, and it leaves him at eye level with Caleb’s groin.

Caleb’s hand tangles in his hair and keeps him there, then a beat later, Fjord hears the approaching footsteps.

He tips forward of his own volition and Caleb doesn’t try to stop him, so he presses his face to Caleb’s hip, nuzzles there gently. The hand in his hair tightens, but still makes no move to stop him, so he takes in lungfuls of Caleb’s scent while the footsteps approach.

Whoever it is falters outside the alcove, and then the voice from before, blandly pleasant, “Ah, Herr Brahm, I did not mean to... interrupt.”

Caleb’s hum is disbelieving, “It is no trouble,” he says though, voice still level.

Fjord’s tempted to push the limits, but doesn’t, instead keeps his face pressed against the crease of Caleb’s hip.

“I did have a question for you,” the man says, though he doesn’t wait for Caleb this time, simply trudges on, “I was curious as to where you found such a pet.”

To his credit, Caleb doesn’t stiffen or react in any way that Fjord can feel, though he can’t see Caleb’s face. Above him though, Caleb merely hums, one of his considering sounds, like he’s deciding what spell will be best for his use.

The hand in his hair moves, slides around to cup his chin and tilts his head back, and he meets Caleb’s gaze through heavy lidded eyes. Caleb’s thumb presses passed his lips and Fjord’s shoulders droop further.

“There are no others like you, are there, pet?” Caleb asks and he says ‘pet’ like he says liebling, barchen, and Fjord whines quietly around his thumb.

He doesn’t mean to, but Caleb’s gaze is approving, before he looks back to the man.

Lord Willhelm clears his throat, once than twice, and Fjord presses his face back to Caleb’s hip and turns his head enough to peek. He still can’t see the man’s face, but he realizes he’s alone, no companion with him now, though Fjord is fairly certain he saw one with the man earlier.

Caleb says nothing, but abruptly the man turns on his heels and walks off.

Fjord blows out a breath, body slumping forward against Caleb’s legs.

“That was -“ Caleb cuts off and pets a hand through his hair, “You’re doing so well, liebling,” he says then, voice hushed, and Fjord’s whole body shudders.

Footsteps approach again and Fjord straightens again.

“Oh gross,” and he immediately sags again.

“Beauregard,” Caleb says, unbothered, “Is everything all right?”

Fjord leans back, tilting until he’s on his ass on the stone and can slide back to tilt his head against the opposite wall, peering up at Caleb, then turning his gaze to Beau. She looks a little frazzled, red faced.

She throws a hand through the air, “Define all right.”

Caleb squints at her and Fjord pushes himself to standing.

“We’re blown,” she says on a sudden exhale, coming in closer to the both of them, “The real Herr Brahm was found and word is going to make it to the fancy people any moment, I just heard the servants talking about it.”

“Lets go then,” Caleb says and links his fingers through Fjord’s.

Beau waves a hand, “I’m going to stay, get some more information if I can,” she says, glancing over her shoulder, “The servants know everything.”

Caleb is frowning at her, about to protest, Fjord can see the words forming, but Beau holds up her hand and then claps Caleb on the shoulder. It’s about to be one of their weird sibling moments, Fjord feels it in his bones.

“Listen, Caleb, I can take care of myself, I just walk off when the talks are done and join the others to hitch a ride back to the coast. If they catch you two though?” She shakes her head, “Who fucking knows what’ll happen, so you go. Get to the inn, do your fancy magic, and the rest of us will keep in touch with Jester’s messages.”

Fjord squeezes his hand, “She’s right, Cay.”

“Damn right, I am. Besides, I’m not leaving Nott and Jester in this maze alone.”

Caleb’s shoulders slump and Beau nods, “Thatta boy, now get,” she shoos them out of the alcove, turning in the opposite direction, back the way they all came.

Waiting until she’s gone, Fjord glances to Caleb, “Hope you know how to get us out of here,” he says and bumps their shoulders together gently.

It works and Caleb draws himself together, face serious, “Ja, I have some idea.”

He lets Caleb lead, turning them around the maze of corridors and Fjord thinks that this might actually work, when they turn a corner and Caleb stops short, Fjord bumps into his back.

The red tiefling is standing their, an eyebrow lifted at the two of them, head cocked in curiosity. They make no move to raise any alarm though, instead turning their gaze from Caleb to Fjord. He feels a little like he’s being seen through, like Caduceus seems to do sometimes.

Then suddenly, they nod, just once and step to the side, pointing at a door down the hall to the right.

“Go,” Fjord urges Caleb.

As they pass the tiefling, Fjord tosses them the small square of ruby still clutched in his palm. Their laughter bounces down the hall as Caleb takes them through the door indicated to them.

———

As they clear out of the estate, escaping off in the direction of town according to Caleb, they both hear the guards shouting to close the chateau down.

Caleb suddenly stops and hauls him close and Fjord feels the familiar pull of magic and a door opens in the air next to them. “It won’t get us all the way to town, but better than running it all,” Caleb says and tugs Fjord through.

They stumble out near the path, almost the place where Caleb had stopped him on their way in, but neither of them pause now. 

“My shirt,” Fjord says, as they’re hurrying in the direction of town, and shoves his arms into it hastily when Caleb hands the fabric over. He’s going to be barefoot, but at least having a shirt on will draw much less attention.

The buttons are all wrong when the slow into the town proper, but no one actually pays them too much attention and Fjord slides his arm over Caleb’s shoulders, pulling him in, “No one has tripped the alarm on the room, right?”

Caleb curves into his side like that’s where he’s supposed to be, “Nein, we should be fine once we’re in the room.”

Fjord nods and presses a lingering kiss to his temple as they pass a town guard, just in case.

No one stops them though, not on the way to the inn, nor in the inn as they ascend the staircase. Fjord doesn’t breathe until the door is shut behind them and bolted, slumping back against it while Caleb gathers up all their things.

It all gets shoved into Fjord’s arms, then Caleb wraps one hand around his bicep and casts the spell to teleport them back to Nicodranas.

———

They land in the basement of the Lavish Chateau and Fjord stumbles a few steps, trying to get his own footing. It’s only he and Caleb, no one is expecting them, so he just hits his ass instead.

Caleb manages to maintain his footing, though he bends at the middle, forearms on his thighs, before he starts laughing, hysterical hiccups that bubble out of him uncontrollably. He goes on like that for several minutes, before he starts to calm, swiping a hand over his eyes.

Fjord lifts an eyebrow, his mouth curling into a smile, “Good now?”

“Ja, I’m gut,” Caleb says, laughter still in his voice. He comes closer and joins Fjord on the floor, leaning his back against Fjord’s side, “That was a rush. We haven’t done anything like that in some time.”

Humming, Fjord dumps their things to the side, then slides his arm around Caleb’s middle, “I hope it was worth it.”

Caleb turns towards him, “It was, liebling, I learned a lot.” Then his head tilts and drags down to Fjord’s throat, “About more than just the Empire’s war plans as well,” he adds and Fjord swallows thickly. Caleb’s eyes drag back up to meet his, “We should go upstairs.”

Already nodding, Fjord withdraws his arm and gathers their things again, pushing himself to stand. He waits until they’re on the staircase that will lead them to the rest of the Lavish Chateau, to Nicodranas and then they can set off for the estate, “You know, I wouldn’t mind keeping the collar.”

Caleb draws to a stop behind him and Fjord keeps going, grinning to himself.

Eventually, he hears footsteps catching up to him, “I would certainly be amenable to that.”

“I thought you would be.”

**Author's Note:**

> let me know if i missed tagging something, i think i got it all for this one.
> 
> find me on tumblr and twitter.


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